


Gas N' Sip Sugar

by Winchester_Werewolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drifter, Prostitution, supernatural universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winchester_Werewolf/pseuds/Winchester_Werewolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sugar, the daughter of a crystal meth-addicted prostitute and a client, finds herself in the middle of nowhere (more commonly known as Arkansas) and is desperate for a ride and somewhere to sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gas N' Sip Sugar

Morning started with me being thrown out of a cab of a truck at a Gas N’ Sip in Arkansas. I’d overstayed my welcome in Frank’s truck long enough apparently, and no amount of blowjobs could change it.  
Because I was in mother fucking Arkansas, no trucks or cars actually pulled into the goddamn stop for hours.

So that was how I found myself with my ass parked on the curb outside the little service station, trying to warm my arms with my hands. 

The clerk was probably looking at me through the window again, but there was no other place for me to go. 

Hitch-hiking was no where near the safest way to travel; but I could often pick out the people who would let me hitch and have a warm place to sleep from the ones who would rape, kill you or dump your ass in the middle of no where for shits and giggles. Even if I had to sleep with most of them, it was better than going hungry or cold. 

Clouds obscured the sun by the time I was desperate enough for warmth that I was contemplating crawling into one of the bushes near the air pump to sleep when a huge black truck careered into the lot.  
I think he saw me first, the man who climbed out of the monster of a vehicle. When he got out, all six foot three of him knew what I wanted and what I was offering from it.

Standing up and brushing whatever dirt off my ass, I headed over. This guy didn’t ogle me though, and he was pumping gas into his guzzler when I got to him.

“Hey, got any room in that big ol’ truck of yours?” I asked in the sweetest Southern voice I could, smiling big and fake.

“Move along, girl.” Was all he said, his voice was rough and deep.  
That was unexpected.

“You'll regret passing me up, I'm pretty good.” My voice lowered a little, enough to appear older but not lose the Southern accent. Guys seemed to find it more appealing.

The man didn’t say anything, just took out the gas nozzle and fitting it back on the pump. 

“Go home,” Was all he said, fishing a battered leather wallet out of his jacket pocket.

“If I had a home, do you really think I’d be doing this?” I say, losing the coyness. “Please, sir, just a lift to the next god-damn town.”

No answer, the man just trudged up to the Gas N’ Sip and paid for his gas. Scowling, I lent against his truck, pushing up my bra to try and show off what little breasts I had. He was going to get me out of this little remote as hell service station and take me somewhere.  
When he returns, he has a plastic bag of what looked like road grub, and a hand lodged loosely in his front pocket.

“Move.” 

“I can fit in the fucking tray,” I say, trying to be convincing. “Come on, you won’t hear nothing from me. I don't have money for gas, I'll take it out in trade, though, if that's what you want. Just once, unless you pay me more than just a ride. Condoms all 'round."

The guy has super green eyes, and he looks me up and down.

“How old are you?” He had a Kansas accent.

“Eighteen,” Now, that was a downright lie, I looked too damn young but generally they never asked questions. 

“You should at least try and lie better than that so I can try to believe you.”

“So…is that a yes?” 

At my hopeful tone he raised his eyebrows and let out a sigh.

“Only to the next town,” He warned, and I headed towards the tray of the truck, lifting my bag from my shoulders. “And you can ride in the cab.”

Kansas was already buckled in by the time I heaved myself up into the cab, his foot on the gas peddle and hand on the gearshift with the other on the wheel.

The seats were pretty decent quality leather, and it was heated too, the end of my nose losing its numbness by the time Kansas had sped out of the Gas N’ Sip. 

Trees cut the predominately flat landscape fast by the time Kansas decides to say something.

“What the hell were you doin’ there anyway?” He says, rough and demanding an answer.

“Ass hole kicked me out of his truck this mornin’,” I said, rubbing my arms again to help the warmth get to them. 

“Where are you going?” He’s sentences are short and sharp, like every question he asked he expects an answer.

This question stumped me a little, but I manage to answer, “Anywhere.”  
He takes his eyes off the road for the moment, looking at me like I was the antichrist.

“I ain’t got no where to go, what the hell do you expect? What kind a girl dreams about wearing stupid shoes and sleeping in bushes?” My voice is bitter, and I can hear that Southern ‘tsk’ sound at the end of my words.

Kansas just hmps and turns his attention back to the road and I lean my head against the window, closing my eyes. 

“What’s your name?” His voice cuts through my consciousness as I start to doze off.

“Sugar,” I sigh.

“Your real name,” His voice sounds like he’s had enough shit for one day.

“’M serious, ma name’s Sugar… my momma was a drunk.” Rubbing my eyes I turn and look at him. “What’s your name anyway, Johnny Cash?” 

He purses his lips, “ John. John Winchester.”

“Nice to meet you John,” I say shrugging a little, and leaning against the window, “Wake me up before you kick me out the door so I can roll before I hit the road, ‘kay?”

 

John’s truck was too loud and the road too pot holed for me to actually fall asleep, but I managed to dose against the window whilst he drove at break-neck speed.

After fifteen minutes of silence, John lent forward and turned the radio on. 

“Acca Dacca?” I said, opening my eyes.

“You don’t get a say in the music. I can pull over if you want.” He said, almost threatening. 

“No, no. Just a surprise is all.” 

 

The rest of the drive was in silence, except for AC/DC, and John bought me a burger at a Burger Palace drive-thro. We ate in the parking lot of the Greyhound bus station.

“Thanks, you didn’t have to,” I mutter, scrunching up the burger wrapper and stuffing it in the greasy paper bag. 

John just grunted, taking the last bite of his burger and dumping it in the paper bag. 

“Man of few words, huh?” Smirking, I scan the parking lot. There’s no one there, it’s too late at night. Swiftly, I unbuckled my belt and leant across the seat, putting my hand on John’s thigh. 

John turned to look at me, and a knot tied itself in my stomach. 

“No.”

“No? Come on, I ain’t got the clap, Kansas.” 

“No. You’re a kid.”

“So? You seriously want me to believe that you willingly picked me up out of the goodness of your heart? Piss off.” I snorted, reaching across to unzip his jeans.

John’s hand grabbed my wrist and yanked it back. 

“No. Get out.” His voice was rough, unpleased. “You’re a kid. Get out.”

“Relax, Kan—“

“Get out.”  
“Fine, fine. I’m out. Thanks for the lift, dickhead.” Snorting, I opened the door and jumped out, slamming it behind me.

The truck roared to life before my foot hit the sidewalk, and I didn’t look around to see him drive off.

Whatever, he was just another guy. Nothing important. Good looking or no.

**Author's Note:**

> This is another of my least-liked fan fictions. I'm pretty sure it's a one-shot, but I like the idea of having a series of one shots were Sugar hitchs rides with hunters. I dunno. You tell me if you think it's an okay idea.


End file.
